


I Am Home

by Taste_is_Sweet



Series: Soldiers of Fire and Shadows [22]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: ALL THE GOOD STUFF, Angsty Schmoop, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Feels, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everything is Beautiful and Things Only Hurt a Little Bit, Finally, Fluff and Angst, I CAN'T BELIEVE IT EITHER, Love, M/M, Reunions, Schmoop, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, They Get Hugs, Yes I Wrote Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 16:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16857415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet
Summary: Bucky's next to Steve's bed, slumped over with his metal hand palm-up and loose in his lap, and his head pillowed on the mattress, almost touching Steve's waist. Bucky's elbow is bent awkwardly on the bed, his fingers laced with Steve's.Steve doesn't move. He barely breathes. This is Bucky.Bucky.Bucky's in the Tower with him, which means he was well enough to be moved. He was well enough to wait for Steve to wake up. And he's here. He's right here.





	I Am Home

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from [the homonymous song by WAR*HALL](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R5HGjQ8ZHMo). I normally try not to use lyrics that are also the title of the song, but it was just too perfect. (WAR*HALL is amazing. I readily admit I discovered them because of an online Google advertisement, but after I found the song I bought all their albums. SO GOOD.)
> 
> * * *
> 
> I can't believe how long it took me to write 9 pages of reunion schmoop. Not to mention the constant certainty that it was dumb af. (What can I tell you, if no one is in deep physical or psychological pain I get anxious.)
> 
> * * *
> 
> I didn't write any of the tags to be in ALL CAPS, btw. The archive did that on its own. But I do love it. :D

Steve doesn't remember leaving the sugar house.

He _does_ remember being in a hell of a lot of pain, and someone (Tony? Maria?) holding his hand as he panted and shook on a stretcher, the refinery's caged ceiling lights passing overhead like streetlamps on a highway. He has a vague recollection of thinking he was back in D.C., and asking someone to tell Bucky he forgave him for shooting him. Someone—definitely Tony—said he would, except then Steve remembered Bucky _couldn't_ be forgiven, because he was dead. He definitely remembers crying from the sudden, knife-twisting grief, only he couldn't breathe and there was blood in his mouth.

He doesn't remember passing out, or being sedated or whatever happened to get him from Riverdale back to…wherever he is. He's pretty sure it's not Claire's barbershop-turned-clinic. It smells too antiseptic for one, and it's warm even though he can't hear the humming of the space heaters. He can't smell them heating the air either, just the plastic canula under his nose, supplying oxygen to his healing lungs. He can feel the vague pinch of an I.V. heplock in his arm, and the less vague, unpleasant pressure of a catheter where he'd really rather not have one. He doesn't think Claire has any equipment like that. There're no sounds of traffic outside; all he can hear is the soft whisper of the air circulation, and the gentle, steady breathing of someone deeply asleep. They're holding Steve's hand.

 _The Tower,_ he thinks. Not 'home'. It's never been home. Nowhere could be, not since he woke up in this new century with Bucky….

 _Alive._ Bucky's alive. 

Steve opens his eyes.

Bucky's next to Steve's bed, slumped over with his metal hand palm-up and loose in his lap, and his head pillowed on the mattress, almost touching Steve's waist. He's wearing a bright red pullover hoodie with the Stark Industries logo emblazoned on the back. It looks soft and warm, but Steve hates how it hangs off Bucky's frame. His flesh arm has an I.V. in his wrist that leads up to a clear bag on a mobile stand. The label says it's some kind of nutrient solution. Bucky's elbow is bent awkwardly on the bed, his fingers laced with Steve's.

Steve doesn't move. He barely breathes. This is Bucky. _Bucky._ Bucky's in the Tower with him, which means he was well enough to be moved. He was well enough to wait for Steve to wake up. And he's here. He's right here.

Steve remembers Claire asking him to please let Bucky sleep, and telling Tony _if he wakes up because you hurt him, I will kill you._ But Steve can't help the noise he makes: a soft sound encompassing all of the shock, joy, relief and gratitude knifing through him.

Bucky inhales sharply and comes awake, then he sees Steve and beams at him. "Hi, Stevie." His breathing sounds perfectly clear now, and he isn't moving like he's in pain. Bucky still looks gaunt, exhausted and far too pale, but the terrifying emptiness from when they fought is gone. Bucky's eyes are bright and alive in his beautiful, expressive face. His smile is more cautious, not as bright as maybe it was before the war. But it's there and it's real and Bucky _knows_ him. He was here waiting for Steve to wake up. He held Steve's hand.

Steve bursts into tears.

It's the drugs, he thinks, whatever painkillers they have him on that turned the acid agony into an inconsequential ache. He already did his crying at Claire's clinic; there's no reason for more of it now. Steve should be _happy._ But he can't seem to stop.

The light in Bucky's eyes dims with concern. "Oh, no. No, Stevie. Don't cry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He stands up and leans over, hugging Steve so carefully Steve can barely feel it. "I'm sorry. I would never…. I wasn't…." Bucky's breath hitches and then he starts crying too. It might be funny if Steve had it in him right now to laugh. "I never wanted to hurt you. I'm so sorry, Stevie. I love you. I love you so much."

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky and hugs him as tightly as he wants, not giving a damn how it makes his wounds screech through the haze of the medicine. But then Bucky hisses in a breath and Steve remembers his side, that he's hurt too. But when he tries to let go Bucky won't let him.

"I'm sorry," Bucky says, over and over. He's getting tears on Steve's neck. "I love you. I'm so glad you're here. I was so scared when they said you got hurt."

Steve wants to tell him that it's okay, he's fine, but somehow he can't find the words. "I thought you were dead!" he sobs, in place of anything kind or reassuring. "I missed you. God, I missed you. I didn't want to be here without you but I had to be anyway even though you were _gone_ and then you _came back_ but…." He swallows, choking back a newer, more violent onrush of tears that threatens to overwhelm him. He's angry, he realizes. Betrayed. It grates against the relief and joy, and the grief that still clings like film. It's too much; even with the extra oxygen it's hard to breathe. "But you _died._ I thought you _died!_ And I thought…that was it. No more chances. I'd never see you—"

His voice cracks, then shatters like a ship in a storm. And then all Steve can do is hold on, crying until he's wracked with it, 'til his wounds are roaring and he's gasping desperate sips of air that taste of salt. He's dimly aware of other people in the room, Bucky saying, _It's okay, it's all right, he just needs a minute,_ but Steve doesn't know who he's talking to.

Then they're alone again, and Bucky practically crawls on top of him, still not touching his injuries. He lies at Steve's side on his right arm, and carefully places his left arm on Steve's abdomen, across the unmarked flesh between Steve's wounds. There's a package of tissues on Steve's stomach. He has no idea how that got there.

"It's okay, Stevie. I'm here. I'm alive. I'm not going anywhere." Bucky uses the tissues to wipe Steve's face, then drops the crumpled paper on the floor. He wipes his own eyes, then drops that tissue too. "I'm so sorry. I never…" He stops, looks like he's fighting to keep it together himself. He traces Steve's face with his fingertips. The metal feels smooth and warm, alive where it touches his skin. "I never wanted to leave you."

"Then why didn't you find me?" Steve demands. "Why didn't you tell me you were alive?" He sounds like a child— _You did leave me!_ —but he can't help it. He's trying to push away the betrayal and hurt, but he'd can't manage that either. It's there: as deep, ragged and painful as any wound.

"I wanted to find you," Bucky says. "I wanted to so much. You have no idea…." He stops, takes a breath, then gives Steve a soft, aching smile. "I wanted to. Not at first, but that was 'cause I didn't even know who you were. All I knew was that you were real important and I had to keep away so I wouldn't kill you." He grimaces, full of self-disgust and a darkness Steve can't begin to imagine. "I figured you were my handler, 'cause I couldn't think of any other reason why I'd purposely fail my mission for you. The only ways I knew to think about people were as handlers, collateral damage or mission targets. Handlers were the ones you kept safe."

"God, Buck," Steve whispers. He has no other words.

Bucky shrugs with his left shoulder. "Yeah, well. Better than still thinkin' you were my mission, right?" His smile goes bitter and thin, and then flattens entirely into sorrow. He traces Steve's jaw with his fingers. "You would'a let me kill you." He should be angry, Steve thinks, but he only sounds sad.

"I love you," Steve says simply. "The fight was over. I wasn't going to hurt you anymore." And he would have rather died than live in a world where Bucky was only an empty, soulless version of himself, who found Steve's presence incomprehensible and terrifying.

Steve knows exactly how cowardly that is. How capitulating; how very unlike _Captain America_. He didn't care then. Now he only cares how Bucky would have mourned him, how he would have blamed himself for Steve's death.

"You bein' dead 'cause of me would've hurt a lot, Steve," Bucky says, as if he saw the words in Steve's mind.

"I know," Steve says. "I didn't…." He can't make himself say, _I didn't think you were ever coming back._ "I didn't think. I'm sorry."

"S'okay, Stevie." It isn't, not really, but Bucky leans in to kiss him anyway, light and soft and sweet. "When I started remembering, I had nightmares about that: You dying 'cause I never stopped hitting you, or because I left you in the water." He smiles again, but it's bleak as his eyes. "Took a while to understand why I kept waking up sobbing my guts out." His smile vanishes completely. "And then, when I finally remembered who you were…you belonged to _Bucky_ , not me. I wasn't him. I mean, I didn't know I was him. Being James Buchanan Barnes was dangerous. It hurt. The name meant punishment." Bucky's smirk sounds like pain. "Hydra made damn fucking sure I remembered that, even when I couldn't remember anything else. So I was Vanya, or the Winter Soldier. Or, nobody. And you weren't mine."

"I've always been yours," Steve says.

"I know," Bucky says.

The easy, absolute certainty of it eases something tight and jagged in Steve's chest. His breath of relief is weak and shaky in a way he can't blame on his damaged lung, but he grins so widely it makes the tape keeping the canulla in place itch. He takes Bucky's metal hand in his own and holds it to his heart. "I love you," he says again, because Bucky is there to hear it and Steve is so incredibly, unbelievably happy. "I can't believe you're here."

"Me neither," Bucky says. He's not joking. "When Hydra had me, I was so…. I thought I was dead, sometimes. I mean, like I'd died and gone to hell." He leans down and kisses away the tiny noise of horror Steve can't contain. "It's okay, Stevie. It's over now. I just meant…I guess I just meant that I'm really glad I survived, 'cause now I get to be with you." He smiles with such tenderness it steals what little breath Steve has. "I missed you more than anything. Even when I didn't know what the ache inside me meant. I'm sorry I never told you I was okay. I should have. But…."

"It's all right," Steve says, when Bucky cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh full of self-recrimination. He lets go of Bucky's hand to cup the side of his face. "I understand now. You were trying to protect me. And…God, Buck. You did the best you could, didn't you? You did the best you could when you didn't even know your own _name._ You've been through so much. The fact you're even here at all is—"

Steve clenches his jaw, smirking wetly because fuck if he's not right back on the verge of crying. "Sorry," he grits out. The last thing Bucky needs is more tears.

"Don't apologize. You got nothing to apologize for." Bucky takes another tissue from the box still resting on Steve's abdomen and pressed it casually into Steve's hand. "You got banged up to shit and your best guy came back from the dead. I think you're doing great." Bucky snorts. "'Course, I'm comparing you to me, so doing great is kind of a low bar." It's meant to be funny, but the humor can't escape the misery in Bucky's eyes.

"How are you?" Steve asks softly, because he realizes he hasn't. He means so much more than physically, but he doesn't know how to put that into words.

Maybe Bucky gets it anyway, because he shrugs, then says: "Lungs're clear, arm's working and not burning a hole in my side. I've remembered my name, where the hell I am and what year it is for about 30 hours—though when I woke up the first time I did think I was in Italy for a couple minutes—and I haven't tried to kill anyone even once." He grins, though it's sad and uncertain. "So, pretty good? I guess?"

"That sounds really good to me," Steve says, meaning it. "That sounds really damn good, Bucky." He puts his hand on the side of Bucky's neck, because he can't stand not touching him. He feels the too sharp knob of Bucky's spine at his nape, but also the warmth of his skin and the steady pulse of his blood. "You've come through so much. I'm so proud of you."

Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes, but there's nothing but fondness in his expression. "Like I said, low bar."

"High bar," Steve corrects. "You're the highest bar."

Bucky's eyebrows caterpillar. "I don't even know what that means."

"That's 'cause you took all the stupid with you," Steve says.

Bucky looks confused, then his eyes go distant, remembering. And then he gets it—he _gets it_ —and knowing he has that memory is even better than the sound of Bucky laughing. "Pretty sure I already gave it back."

"Pretty sure you kept it." Steve knows it's a lousy comeback, but he laughs anyway, because he's so happy. It hurts his chest a lot, but he really doesn't care.

"Pretty sure you're a punk," Bucky says.

"I love you." Steve repeats it because he can. "I love you more than anything, you jerk. Don't ever leave me again."

Steve was smiling when he said it, but Bucky stops laughing. "I won't," he says, completely serious. "I love you more than anything and I'm never leaving you again." He kisses Steve again, another soft, almost chaste touch of his open lips. Steve wants more of it, tries to lift up to chase Bucky's mouth, but it hurts too much. He lets his head drop back to the pillow with a pained sigh.

"Later, I promise," Bucky says. He tugs Steve's pillow closer then lays down. He traces Steve's jaw, like he can't stand not touching him either. "Right now you should sleep, though. You got the shit beat out of you and it's only been about a day."

"Oh," Steve says, not sure why that amount of time surprises him. "How are the others?"

"Tony's fine," Bucky says with reassuring immediacy.

"Thank God," Steve sighs. "He looked pretty bad."

"Says death warmed over," Bucky smirks. "But, yeah, he's okay. He came to the clinic after I woke up and hauled me and Illya over here. His face was bruised as hell and he was favoring one side, but he even let Claire check him over and she said he was going to be fine." Bucky clenches and unclenches his metal hand. "He did one hell of a job on my arm. It doesn't hurt anymore." He shakes his head in wonder. "It's like a miracle. I can move it and it doesn't hurt."

"That's fantastic, Bucky," Steve says, thinking of how Bucky's arm was stretched out when Steve first saw him; all the bandages down Bucky's side. "Tony's amazing with stuff like that. I'm so glad he stopped your arm hurting you." He takes Bucky's forearm, running his fingers over the metal. It was a shocking, frightening weapon on the bridge, before he discovered who'd been forced to wield it. Now he can only find it beautiful. Not because it's an incredible prosthesis—thought of course it is—but as an emblem of Bucky's survival. "I'm so glad you're okay, Buck," he says quietly.

"Thanks," Bucky says, voice just as quiet. He watches Steve's hand on his arm, letting the silence settle. Steve has no idea what he's thinking. "I'm worried about Matt," Bucky says finally.

Steve grimaces. "Me too. How is he?"

Bucky shakes his head, his eyes still on his arm. "Rain's okay, at least. I mean, he was shaken, beat up, hungry and thirsty, the whole bit, and he dislocated his elbow. I'm assuming that's Ward's fault." His jaw works angrily. "I wish I'd been there."

Steve is so very, very happy Bucky wasn't. He only doesn't say it because he wishes he'd been there earlier, long before Matt was hurt or Forsythe was taken. "Where is he now?"

"With Matt," Bucky says. "He barely left his side long enough to let the docs patch him up and feed him. He's been sleeping in the same room, hasn't said a damn thing about going home yet. At least, that's what Illya told me." He shrugs one shoulder, expression unhappy. "I haven't seen them, yet, 'cause I've been sleeping so damn much. I don't even remember coming here, other than nearly panicking in the back of a car before Illya got me to go back to sleep. Again." He huffs out a frustrated breath. "It's like I can't stay awake for more than an hour or two at a time." He gestures at the bag hanging next to him. "That's why I've got this, 'cause I can barely stay upright long enough to eat."

"That makes sense, though," Steve says. "If you're sleeping this much, it's obviously because you need it. You have a lot of healing to do."

"I guess." Bucky scowls. "I hate being this weak."

"You have a lot of healing to do," Steve repeats. "Cut yourself some slack."

Bucky makes a face and shakes his head. "Hydra's still out there. I can't fucking stand it that I'm laying around sleeping when it's just a matter of time before another branch of the motherfuckers rears up and starts hurting people again."

"Hey." Steve lets go Bucky's arm to caress the space between Bucky's shoulder and neck. "You're not alone anymore. You've got me, and the other Avengers. It's okay if you rest and get well. You're allowed, Buck," he adds when Bucky just looks angry. "You've done enough. It's okay."

"I haven't done enough! I've barely done anything!" Bucky bursts out. He jerks like he's about to get up, except for Steve's hand keeping him in place. "I haven't done anything but hurt and kill people for 70 years! Good people! People who didn't deserve it. Who died because of me! How can you say I've done _enough?_ I barely even touched what's left of those fuckers, and even if I got rid of every last one of them, it'd never make up for what I did! And you expect me to…to _rest_ when I've got all this blood on my hands? Like it's somehow okay?"

He abruptly levers himself upright and turns so his back's to Steve, sitting legs dangling over the side of the bed. He puts his face in his hands.

"Bucky. Bucky, no." Forcing himself up is painful, but it's Bucky so Steve does it. He scooches over so his side is almost flush with Bucky's tense back, then wraps his closer arm around him, mindful of both their injuries. He leans his chin on Bucky's shoulder. Bucky's warm, even if Steve can feel his bones through his clothes.

Bucky goes even tenser, but doesn't shrug him off. Steve's grateful for that.

"The blood is Hydra's, not yours," Steve says. "You don't have to atone for something you didn't do. They _forced_ you. It wasn't your choice. That means what you did isn't your fault. Don't give Hydra a pass on this, Bucky. Everything they made you do, it's on them, all of it. It's on them."

"Doesn't feel like it," Bucky rasps, but he leans his temple against Steve's forehead. "I keep thinking that I should've fought harder. Been stronger. Something. Not let them turn me into their weapon."

"I read about what they did to you," Steve says. "Not just what was in _Time_ magazine, all of it. Everything Tony and Natasha were able to find. And, they had film. Hydra kept film of what they did. I watched some of it. I'm sorry." He apologizes for the same reason he hesitated to see any of it: it felt like a violation of Bucky's Privacy, witnessing the torture he was subjected to. But Bucky _lived_ it; purposely ignoring what he endured felt equally as wrong. 

Bucky shrugs. Steve's not sure if it's because Steve was the one watching, or because Bucky doesn't care. He hopes it's not because Bucky doesn't care.

"So, I know how hard you fought, Bucky," Steve goes on. "I saw it. They had hundreds of people dedicated to breaking you, and decades to do it in. You were just one man. I don't think anyone else could've come through what they did intact. Including me," he adds, because there's no question but that Bucky's thinking it.

"I hurt so many people, Steve," Bucky says. "I would've rather died, than do what I did. I tried to, but I couldn't. They stopped me," he whispers. "They always stopped me."

Steve isn't sure he should say _I'm so glad they did_ out loud. He just hugs Bucky more tightly instead. "You were so brave."

"Doesn't feel brave either," Bucky says.

"I know," Steve says. "But it's true. You were. Just the fact you're still here, still _you,_ after everything they did proves it." He manages to drop an awkward kiss on Bucky's cheek. "You will always be the strongest, and bravest man I know."

"No, that's you," Bucky says, and turns his head so Steve can catch his tiny, tentative smile.

"We'll just have to agree to disagree on that," Steve says. He hugs Bucky close.

Bucky sighs, but he doesn't argue and he finally relaxes. "I don't know if Matthew's gonna come back from this," he says quietly. "Illya told me he got the serum too, like the kid. But he's not as enhanced as we are. And what Ward did…I don't know if he can come back."

"How is he?" Steve asks, just as quietly.

Bucky shrugs again. "I don't know. I'm just going on what Illya told me. He recognizes Rain, and Illya said he recognized him as well, but that might've been because of his scent. Apparently Matt can do that, find people by smell. And Illya was pretty sure Matt remembers Claire, but…." Bucky takes a breath. "He doesn't know his name, or that's he's Daredevil, or what he does for a living. He just…." Bucky shakes his head. "I never met him—or, I did, when he and Illya came for me, but I don't really remember it. But…." He looks stricken. "He saved my life. He sacrificed himself for me. And I don't know if he's going to be okay."

"He'll come back," Steve says, with as much conviction as he can muster when he's overwhelmed and exhausted with relief and love and pain. "I've fought with him. I know how strong he is. And even after what Ward did to him, he knew Forsythe almost immediately."

Bucky straightens so he can turn his head to look at Steve. "Who the hell is Forsythe?"

Steve blinks at him. "Forsythe Jones? The boy you've been calling Rain?"

"Oh." Bucky blinks back. "Matt and Illya were callin' him Rain and he was answering to it. I thought that was his name."

"Guess it's a nickname, then," Steve says. He wraps both arms around Bucky's waist, hugging him gently. "But the point is, Matt knew him. I think that means he's going to be all right."

"I hope so," Bucky says. It's with the air of someone who expects the worst, but would like to be proven wrong.

"He'll be all right, I promise," Steve says.

Bucky huffs a breath but just leans into him. "You shouldn't make promises you don't know you can keep."

"I do know it," Steve says, pulling up all the Captain American certainty he can. "When have I broken a promise?"

Bucky chuckles a bit. "How about not doing anything stupid 'til I got back?"

"That wasn't a promise," Steve says. "And who says I did anything stupid, anyway?"

Bucky makes a noise close to a real laugh, then turns his head to bus Steve's cheek. But when he looks at Steve his eyes are clouded. "Do you forgive me? For staying away from you all this time? For letting you think I was dead?"

"Of course I do," Steve says. "Always. 'Til the end of the line, remember?"

"But it wasn't," Bucky says, voice hushed with misery. "I wasn't with you 'til the end of the line. I left you. I went away."

"You came back," Steve says simply. "You came back to me. That's all that matters."

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> I can actually see the end of this on the horizon, my lovelies. Next ~~chapter~~ fic is Matt! \o/
> 
> * * *
> 
> Don't forget to find me on [Tumblr,](http://taste-is-sweet.tumblr.com/) where I even occasionally reblog stuff that isn't Sebastian Stan's face.


End file.
